


if i can make it til dawn

by chocolatemilkparty (brooklynisosm)



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band), Youngblood - 5 Seconds Of Summer (Album)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Depression, Drug Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Trigger warnings:, Underage Drinking, never thought I'd post RPF but here we are, youngblood album
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:28:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25875124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brooklynisosm/pseuds/chocolatemilkparty
Summary: snapshots from the lives of two fucked up people trying to help each other be less fucked up.
Relationships: Luke Hemmings/Ashton Irwin
Comments: 6
Kudos: 50





	1. -2017-

**Author's Note:**

> oKAY. I wrote this during a time in my life when 5SOS was my comfort and my outlet for a lot of personal issues. This story, though it uses the names of real people, in no way is trying to comment on what may or may not have happened in their real lives. I am posting this a year after writing it, not because I want to make assumptions about the real lives of anyone, especially people I look up to and respect. I am posting this because writing it helped me get through a bad time in my life, and re-reading it now was extremely cathartic. I hope maybe someone reading this might get something out of it too. 
> 
> That being said, enjoy my 5 Seconds of Summer fanfiction, and please, if there is a God out there, never, ever let Luke Hemmings or Ashton Irwin see it.

**-2017-**

It’s 3AM when Ashton decides enough is enough. 

Luke is a grown man who can make his own choices. But the choices he’s made lately have been at best unwise and at worst, a threat to their careers, their reputation, but more important than that, a threat to Luke’s life. And Luke’s life, to Ashton, and to many other people, is a precious thing. 

He can’t sit and watch Luke throw it away. 

This is far from the first time this has happened in the last few months: he gets a call, usually in the middle of the night. Luke is obviously very intoxicated. Sometimes Luke is hysterical, laughing or crying. The scariest times are when he’s calm, though, because that’s when Ashton knows something is really wrong. That’s when he knows Luke has gone someplace dark. 

But tonight is different in that it isn’t Luke who calls him. 

“Cal?” Ashton mumbles into the phone, still half asleep. The ringing had awoken him from a restless slumber. “What’s up?” 

Calum’s voice is a bit slurred on the other line; he can hear the background noise of a party. “Ashton, sorry it’s late, something’s wrong with Luke.” 

Immediately Ashton is awake. “What? What happened?” 

“We’re— we’re at a party but he seemed like he was on something and he was drinking, like, a lot and when I told him to stop he got mad at me and he disappeared but I found him in the bathroom and he’s— I don’t know, he’s awake but it’s like he’s not… he’s not there.” 

Ashton has already turned on his bedside light. 

“Where are you?” 

* * *

Two months of this. Two months since Luke left her once and for all, and left pieces of himself behind too. The breakup was catastrophic, but not surprising. They all had known it was coming; had waited for it almost eagerly. So Ashton wasn’t shocked to hear what happened. He was just angry. 

He tried to remember that Luke loved her. Even if Ashton himself had always felt she was a bitch, he needed to remember that Luke didn’t think the same. Luke loved her, and he’d been hurt, and Ashton knew heartbreak even if he could never imagine giving his heart to someone like that in the first place. 

So that day, he braced himself as he made the drive to Luke’s house. He needed to not be angry and he needed to be ready for Luke crying. He had always hated seeing Luke cry, hated feeling helpless to stop it. But he’d be damned if he let Luke be alone. 

* * *

He’s reminded of that, of the night of the breakup, two months later, answering Calum’s call. 

It’s a fifteen minute drive to the location of the party, though that’s in the middle of the night when the Los Angeles traffic is less horrendous than usual. Ashton still sees dozens of cars on the road. Even after living in LA for years, he still can’t get used to how much happens here after midnight. In the suburbs of Sydney, it seemed as though the world went to bed at 11. Here, as cliche as it is, the city is never fully asleep, and Ashton isn’t either. 

It’s a house party at some B-Lister’s place, music pounding from a block away. Ashton parks his car as close as he can. There is a slight haze surrounding the building, smoke or sweat or sex. He texts Calum he’s here, and holds his breath as he steps inside. 

He finds Calum at the bottom of a staircase, wedged in between a trash can and a couple making out against a wall. It’s too loud for talking, so he just lets Calum lead him upstairs and down a smoky hallway lined with half-open doors that all lead to places Ashton wouldn’t want to go. Finally they reach a closed door and Calum knocks on it once before opening it to reveal a small bathroom. 

Ashton breathes out. “Luke?” 

Luke is just the way Calum described. Catatonic. He sits in a bathtub, his long legs folded up halfway to fit inside, his back pressed up against the wall behind him. His head lolls back, his lips slightly parted, his eyes glassed over. He’s steadily crying, tears rolling down his cheeks and dripping down off his chin and jaw. If he hears Ashton, he gives no indication. 

Ashton glances back at Calum. “How long?” 

Calum frowns, like he’s confused, but then gets it. “More than an hour, now.” 

“Jesus Christ.” 

Ashton walks to the tub, careful not to make any sudden movements. It feels as though he’s approaching a wild animal. Like once when he was a kid when he saw a dingo in his backyard. He’d tried to be quiet, but it still ran away. Luke isn’t a dingo. Luke is his friend. But he doesn’t know if Luke is even present within the shell in front of him. 

He kneels down, resting his elbows on the rim of the tub. 

“Luke.” he says gently. “Lukey.” 

Something flickers just behind those blue eyes. 

“Luke, can you hear me?” 

With caution, he reaches out a hand to touch Luke’s shoulder. Luke doesn’t flinch at the contact, so Ashton lets his hand go flat, rubbing circles over the fabric of Luke’s t-shirt. 

Luke blinks with heavy eyelids, then again, water stuck in beads on his lashes. His dark circles cut deep into his face, the shadows of too many sleepless nights. His lips are dry, almost cracked. If it weren’t for his breaths, and his blinking, he’d seem dead. 

A sudden panic hits Ashton. 

“You said he took something,” he says to Calum, his throat tight. “Do you know what?” 

“No,” Calum stutters. “But. But I don’t think it’s coke cause… cause when he’s done coke he’s different.” 

That takes a second to hit Ashton, the thing that sober Calum would never share. 

“You’ve seen Luke do cocaine?” 

“Yeah,” Calum says, and his face is ashamed but remorse doesn’t change the fact he  _ let Luke do cocaine.  _ “With Ar—” 

“Don’t tell me,” Ashton says, putting a hand up, because there is a deep anger boiling in his blood and hearing  _ her  _ name will only make it worse. She’s the reason Luke is here at all. 

Ashton knows that at the parties she’d taken him to, you can get pretty much any illegal substance you want, so long as you have enough money. He knows they don’t care about age or safety. He’s been aware of those things since he was eighteen years old but that’s because he works to avoid it. 

And in the back of his mind, he’s known that Luke would probably get curious. 

But Ashton has always prayed that Luke wouldn’t get into the hard stuff. The stuff that could ruin his life… 

_ The hard stuff.  _

“Fuck,” Ashton says, “Fuck, Luke, I’m gonna touch you now, so don’t… don’t panic? I’m gonna check something.” 

Luke says nothing. Ashton rolls up his sleeve. 

Luke’s arm is littered with fingernail marks, scratches, like he’s been clawing at his skin, trapped in a body he doesn’t know how to inhabit anymore. Ashton’s chest hurts, seeing that, because he knows how that feels, knows the frustration when you don’t want to be inside yourself. 

But the ache of his heart is nothing compared to the weight that hits his core when he sees  _ it. _ The bruise-like patch near the bend of the elbow. The hole where a needle went in. 

_ Half-conscious, dry mouth, dark circles, corpse-like presentation _ .  _ Track marks. _ Of course it’s this. Ashton should have known. He feels sick. God, he feels fucking sick. 

“Calum,” he croaks. “Calum, he’s on heroin.” 

Calum hisses, like he’s been stung. And yeah. Ashton closes his eyes and images of Kurt Cobain and River Phoenix, Jim Morrison and Janis Joplin swarm behind his lids and  _ Luke can’t join them; he can’t lose Luke.  _

And it’s 3AM and Ashton realizes what he has to do. 

* * *

Luke remembers nothing from last night. That’s normal for him now. 

Once it would have fazed him, caused bolts of anxiety to crash through his body. He’d scramble to check his surroundings, his texts, his wallet, to try to remember anything. 

Now, though. Now he takes it in stride. He can’t find the energy to care anymore. 

His body aches, his mouth sour and head throbbing. Bits and pieces float through his mind— he went out last night. With someone. Calum? It was probably Calum. These days Michael’s always with Crystal, because they are in love (isn’t that nice and beautiful and amazing for them? Luke isn’t bitter, mostly), and Ashton won’t go out with him anymore. Ashton says it’s unhealthy. 

Calum’s said that too, recently. But Luke has very good puppy eyes. 

He isn’t at home; he can tell from the ceiling. He spends a lot of time staring at his ceiling. It’s so blank he can get lost, alone in the desert of his thoughts. This ceiling isn’t the familiar one. It’s less gray. 

He thinks there might be someone breathing next to him. They don’t sound female which is… another thing that would have scared him a few months ago. It is kind of upsetting, if he blacked out his first time with a guy. But-

Luke is wearing clothes, so he didn’t do anything  _ too  _ scandalous. He can feel his tee shirt clinging to his torso, damp with sweat, and he feels a momentary pang of sympathy for whoever the hell it is sleeping next to him because he is fucking filthy and in huge need of a shower but his limbs are lead and so he can’t get up. Yeah, that really sucks for them. 

Memories start to resurface from last night but he pushes them aside. He does not want to deal with that right now, or ever, probably. 

When the band first got really big, his mom had come with them on tour. She wanted to keep an eye on them, make sure they didn’t get into any of the bad things that stars were likely to get into, and she wanted to make sure Luke was okay, because he was anxious and awkward and sensitive to mean people and loud noises and sometimes at the end of a long, long day he just needed to curl up next to his mom and feel safe. He wishes sometimes that his mom was still monitoring his every move, holding his hand when he gets scared. He barely even calls her anymore; he doesn’t know what to say. 

She would have a heart attack if she knew a smidge of what his life is now. 

His bedmate stirs, and turns over, and says “Luke,” in the morning voice Luke could recognize anywhere. 

“Hi, Ash,” Luke says. “Did we fuck?” 

“What?” Even without seeing Ashton’s face, Luke knows what expression he must be making right now. He’s probably disgusted, which is a bummer, because if they did then Luke wouldn’t mind. “No. No. Do you remember  _ anything _ ?” 

“No,” Luke says truthfully. 

“You seem unfazed.” 

“I don’t remember much. I think I might have slept with a Kardashian last week. I don’t know which one.” 

Ashton sits up suddenly, making Luke’s head spin. He can see Ashton’s face now, pale and unrested, his curls poking up even close-cropped as they are. His eyes are serious and grim, a shade of hazel he doesn’t see often. 

“Luke, last night Calum called me. You had a meltdown at a party. You were on heroin.” 

“Oh.” 

“Oh? That’s all you have to say? Oh?” Ashton runs a hand through his messy hair. “Luke, do you even  _ know  _ how dangerous that is? How easy it is to get addicted? Calum and I were scared to death— he had no idea what was wrong with you, he called me in the middle of the fucking night— you were completely catatonic, not responding to anything. We basically had to carry you to my car, you cried the whole way home. Then you got really angry for a second, and passed out. I had you sleep in here because I was scared what would happen if I didn’t keep an eye on you.” 

Luke takes all of this in feeling slightly removed from his body. Ashton’s voice rings too loud. “Talk quieter,” he says. 

“No! I’m not talking quieter! Not until you listen to me! You’re destroying yourself, Luke. I’ve been trying to help quietly, and I know you took the breakup hard—” 

Sudden anger flashes through his chest. “Don’t bring that into this—” 

“You’re not thinking rationally. You haven’t been rational since you got into that relationship—” 

“That’s not true, she—”

“Stop defending her, Luke. You’re not okay. It is very obvious to me, and Michael, and Calum, that you’re not okay. We don’t want to watch you do this to yourself anymore.” 

“Because I’m bringing down the band—”

“ _ Because we love you,”  _ Ashton shouts. “We love you. I— I love you. As much as you can be an enormous dick sometimes, you’re my best friend. All of our best friend. You’re hurting yourself, and it’s awful.” 

Luke sighs. Once this whole conversation, he’s made no move to sit up. They’re still in Ashton’s bed, and the different ceiling is still above him. He closes his eyes. He is very tired. 

“So what are you going to do?” he says. “Cart me off to rehab?” 

“No,” Ashton says. “We talked about that, but we didn’t want to subject you to that.” 

“So what?” 

“I’d like you to move in with me.” 

“What?” 

“I was hoping you could stay here for a while. Petunia too, of course. You can have the guest room. Bring as much stuff as you want.” He breathes hard out of his nose, a small chuckle. “We can be roommates.” 

Luke opens his eyes, and gazes up at Ashton. He still feels as though he got hit by a truck, and is sure he looks it too. “Considering how fucked up I am, having me as a roommate is the last thing you’d want, Ash.” 

He knows why Ashton is really doing this. Of course he does; he’s been babysat before, and it’s not foreign. He thinks maybe he should be offended or angry somehow but for whatever reason the idea of living in Ashton’s house, eating Ashton’s food, sitting on his couch and sleeping in his bed, sounds comforting in a way not much else does anymore. 

He plays along. 

“In truth, Hemmings, I’m only doing this to get to your dog,” Ashton says with a half-grin. 

Luke gives a rusty laugh. “She is my best quality.” 

“Shut up,” Ashton says. “Take a shower.” 

Luke finally gets up, much to his body’s protest. Just as he’s leaving the room, Ashton calls him back. 

“I meant what I said, you know. That I— that you’re. You’re really important to me. I’m not going to lose you.” 

Luke is too tired to think about how that makes him feel, so he just nods, and goes to take his shower. 


	2. -2012-

Luke got to band practice early. 

Usually they practiced at Ashton’s house, because, well, Ashton had the drums. They’d be pretty hard to lug around anywhere else. Also Ashton’s family didn’t mind much if they practiced loud (they were used to Ashton banging on his drums at strange hours, or at least that’s what Ash had told them). Plus Luke, Michael, and Calum could get rides easily, since they all lived closer together and could carpool. So it worked out for them to go to Ashton’s house. 

Today Luke’s mum had something-or-other to do at the time she usually dropped Luke off, so she hustled him into the car 20 minutes early, hushing his protests with an “I’m sure Ashton will be happy to hang out with you for a bit before the others get there, sweetie,” and appeased him by letting him pick the music. With American Idiot jammed in the car’s CD player, Luke spent an anxious drive wondering if his mum was right. 

The thing was, Ashton still scared him a little. There was no reason for it. Ashton was older, but not by that much; he was never anything but kind to Luke (the sunglasses incident never really left his mind), and his giggles were infectious. Ashton was an all-around not scary guy. But still, he made Luke feel a little squirmy inside. It was fine when they were together as a band, but the rare occasions where it was just the two of them, Luke couldn’t seem to string more than a few words together. He knew how flushed he got, how tongue-tied. There was just something about Ashton that made Luke forget how to speak. 

Maybe it was just that Ashton seemed so  _ put together.  _ He could drive, he made friends as quickly as Michael could eat pizza, his fringe always hung over his eyes the right way, and he was  _ amazing  _ at the drums (plus his voice was fucking great even though he never sang for some reason). He had a perfect tan and a blindingly bright smile, and eyes that were soft, but intense, and like, muscles. And  _ dimples.  _ He could probably smile at any girl and make her fall in love. Maybe Luke just felt inadequate next to him. That was probably it. After all, there was no one more awkward and gangly and un-put together than Luke. Beside Luke, Ashton was perfect. 

So yeah, Luke just couldn’t believe that someone like that would be happy to hang out with him outside the band. Ashton was the sun and he was Pluto and those were facts. 

He didn’t say any of that to his mum though. He just kissed her cheek, promised to text her when he needed to be picked up, took his guitar from the backseat, and waved at her one more time when he reached the front door. She blew him a kiss and smiled reassuringly; he smiled back, though he couldn’t quite make it reach his eyes. He hoped she was too far away to see. 

He knocked softly on the door, half-hoping that no one would answer. Unfortunately for him, a moment later he heard footsteps approaching and was greeted by the friendly face of Ashton’s mum. 

“Oh, Luke!” she said with a smile. “Hello!” 

“Hi, Ms. Irwin,” he said, stuffing his hands deep into his pockets. “My mum had to drop me off a little early today. I hope that’s okay.” 

“Of course,” she said, shepherding inside. He had a bit of trouble maneuvering his guitar case, but got it through eventually. “You’re always welcome here. Ashton is in his room, and we have snacks in the cupboard.” 

“Thanks—” Luke started, before a young voice cut in from somewhere in the house “MUUUUUMMMM!!!!!!!!!!!” 

“Sounds like someone’s upset..” Ashton’s mum chuckled. “Make yourself at home, Luke. You can set your guitar down in the living room,” she said before trotting off to tend to whatever trouble Ashton’s little siblings had gotten themselves into. 

Luke felt awkward around Ashton, but he would feel even more awkward sitting in the living room alone, so after he dropped off his guitar he took the initiative to walk to Ashton’s room. The door was closed and there were no signs of life from within. If he were Michael, he would bust in without knocking, in case Ashton was doing something embarrassing, like wanking. But the prospect of Ashton wanking was exactly what made Luke knock. He was polite; his mum had taught him that. Also he had no idea how his body would react if he saw that and he didn’t want to find out. 

So he knocked. 

“Go away, Mum,” came an agitated voice from inside. 

“Uh…. Ashton? It’s Luke,” he said weakly. 

“Luke?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Okay, uh, don’t- don’t come in yet, okay?” 

“Okay,” Luke said, and thought  _ oh my god he really Was wanking. _

A moment later, the door opened to reveal Ashton. He wore a sweatshirt and skinny jeans and no socks. His face was pale. 

“Hey,” he said, and didn’t smile. “Practice doesn’t start for, like, 15 minutes.” 

“I know,” Luke said. “My, uh, my mum had mum stuff to do so she had to drop me off early. Uh, sorry if I’m… um, if I’m intruding or anything, I can… I can go sit in the living room until Michael and Cal get here. If you want.” 

Ashton frowned at him for a second. 

“No, no, it’s fine,” he said. “You can come in. Sorry, I’ve been rude. I’m just not having a great day.” He grinned one of his trademark dimpled grins, but it didn’t seem genuine. Something about Ashton was still guarded, still closed. 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah. C’mon, Lukey.” 

So Luke stepped into Ashton’s room, as unwelcome as he felt. It was different, emptier, without Calum and Michael there. Ashton gestured that he could sit on the bed, so he did, on the very side, his hands clutching the top of the mattress through the fitted sheet. 

“How’re you?” Ashton said, sitting on the other end of the bed. It was almost robotic. He still looked oddly pale. 

“Fine,” Luke said. “I mean, not bad, but, um, not awesome? What about you?” 

Ashton shrugged. Luke watched as he pulled the sleeves of his sweatshirt over his hands. 

“You said your day wasn’t great,” Luke said, carefully. “You wanna talk about it?” 

“Not really,” said Ashton. “It’s just a bummer and nobody wants to hear that, right?” He laughed humorlessly. 

Luke stared down at his knees. “If you keep everything inside and don’t talk to anyone then how can you feel better?” he found himself saying. 

Ashton was silent for a minute, the only sound both of them breathing. 

Luke’s eyes drifted to him, how un-Ashtonlike he looked. Ashton was bubbly and funny, like a ray of sunshine in the rainy day that was Luke’s life. The boy that sat before him was drained of color and life— so much so he couldn’t even seem to formulate a response to what Luke had said. 

“I’m your friend,” Luke said with about as much confidence as someone who couldn’t swim climbing up to a diving board. “I get it if you don’t feel like talking, but, like… I’m here for you. If you ever do. Feel like it. Uh, I’m sure you have plenty of people who are here for you, but, yeah. I am… too.” 

Ashton stood up abruptly, his bed springs creaking a bit. It startled Luke. “What songs are we doing today?” he asked, and crossed the room to his closet. Luke knew he kept his sticks up on the top shelf sometimes so his little brother Harry wouldn’t play with them. Sure enough, Ashton reached up with one long arm to fetch the drumsticks. 

It was almost nothing that the sleeve of his sweatshirt rode down a little. Then it was not nothing. It was a big, blaring, vicious, red something. 

“Are— are you bleeding?” 

Ashton turned around too quickly, his drumsticks clattering to the floor. He stared at Luke with what Luke could only identify as guilt. His hand moved to cover his wrist, but it was too late— the damage was done. 

“Ashton?” Luke said. 

There were many questions wrapped up in that word- ones that Luke couldn’t find the words to ask. His stomach churned with what he had seen, his brain trying desperately to find some answer that wasn’t the sickening, obvious one. 

All he could say was, “You’re bleeding.” 

Ashton said nothing. 

Luke could feel himself starting to panic. He stood up with shaky legs. 

“Ash, you’re bleeding!” he said again, louder, because it was like Ashton had shut off from him and Luke needed to snap him out of it. Needed to slap him or shake him or maybe just hold him and where did that thought come from and he didn’t know what to do. 

“Shh!” Ashton hissed. “My mum will hear.” 

“That’s what you’re worried about?” Luke’s voice rose in pitch, and it should have been embarrassing, but he couldn’t even register that feeling. “That your mum will find out? You have to tell her, you can’t just— that’s fucking… you need… you need help!” 

“I’m fine,” Ashton said, and he sounded angrier than Luke had ever heard him. Luke stumbled back a few inches. His vision blurred; he blinked and a few tears escaped down his face. 

Immediately Ashton’s stance changed, from one of defense to concern. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice wavering. “Fuck, I didn’t mean to yell. I’m sorry.” He covered half his face with his hand.

And Luke felt bad for crying, because he was making Ashton feel bad, and Ashton already felt bad, which was why Luke was crying in the first place. He didn't know what to do. Ashton wasn’t okay. And Luke was probably the worst possible person to help. 

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” he said, trying to wipe some of the wetness on his cheeks away with his sleeve. “Ash, I, I won’t tell your mum if you really don’t want me to. I just… are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” Ashton said, but his face showed he knew neither of them believed it. 

Somehow Luke found enough courage to approach Ashton, to reach out, to take his hand. Ashton’s skin was hot to the touch, his fingers shaking. Luke turned his arm so his palm faced upwards, then slowly, like peeling a band-aid off a wound he wasn’t sure had healed, pushed Ashton’s sleeve up. 

His forearm was messy, covered in stark lines, some old and fading, some scabbed over, but the ones that caught Luke’s eye were still bleeding. 

Luke had known what he would see, but it was still a punch in the gut. 

“Why?” he said, through a closed throat. “Why would you do this to yourself?” 

“If you don’t know,” Ashton said, strangely calm, “then I shouldn’t tell you.” 

“Is this…” He hesitated. “...why you didn’t want me to come in?” 

“Yeah,” Ashton said. 

A quiet had overcome them now, a heavy melancholy as it sunk in. Luke’s legs felt weak. He needed to help somehow. 

“Do you have a first aid kit?” he asked.

“Yeah. Bathroom cabinet.” 

“I’m gonna get it.” Ashton opened his mouth but Luke wasn’t having it. “Don’t do anything else, okay? I’ll be right back.” 

Ashton sat down on the side of his bed tiredly. “Okay,” he said to his knees. 

Luke found the first aid kit where Ashton said it would be, tucked behind some spare toilet paper. He wondered how many times Ashton had used it on himself, late at night, hoping he wouldn’t make noise, wouldn’t wake his sweet mum or those young, happy kids. 

Luke didn’t know which was worse: the thought that it was frequently used, or never. 

He returned to Ashton sitting in the exact same place he’d left him, his eyes fixed on his legs, color drained from his face except for two pink spots of shame high on his cheeks. 

“I found it,” Luke said. Ashton could see he’d found it. He just needed something to say. 

He was almost calm as he sat facing Ashton on the bed, opening the first aid kit and rifling around to find one of those disinfectant wipes his mum used to use on his scrapes when he fell on the sidewalk. 

“Hold out your arm,” he said. “This will probably sting, sorry.” 

Ashton made a little hiss of pain through his teeth but said nothing, staring resolutely forward. Luke cleaned the red and brown carnage away from fragile skin, being as careful as he could. Usually he was squeamish with this kind of thing. He felt as though his brain had left his body and he was watching someone else take care of Ashton. 

There was a box of bandaids in the first aid kit, those ones he might have gotten at the doctor’s office as a kid, after his shots, while he resisted the urge to crunch on his sucker. The character ones. These ones were adorned with the greatest of all superheroes— Batman. 

For some reason, Luke burst out giggling. 

“What?” Ashton said, startled. 

“I just…” Luke said, another laugh bubbling in his chest, “I saw the bandaids and… sorry, I don’t even know why I find it funny.” 

Ashton stared at the box blankly and Luke’s laugh shriveled up. His eyes searched the packaging, as if searching for something. 

Then a small smile appeared at the corner of his mouth, a dimple breaking through. 

“They’re Harry’s,” he said. 

“They’re yours now,” Luke said. “Hold still.”

“What are you—”

Carefully, Luke unwrapped one of the bandaids, pressing it against Ashton’s raw flesh. It only covered a little, where the lines were new, still leaking. Batman stared up at him, as if telling him “fuck you, I’m not going anywhere.” 

“Ash,” he said, trying to keep a serious face. “This is Batman. He’s a superhero. He doesn’t have any superpowers but he’s really smart and strong and he’s here to help you.” 

“Luke—” Ashton started. 

“He’s gonna keep you safe,” Luke said, catching Ashton’s gaze, holding it. “Okay?” 

“Okay,” Ashton said, with a sad little almost-smile. 

They sat there for a second. 

“My mum knows,” Ashton mumbled.

“Huh?” 

“Or, she did. Uh. Last year it got really bad, and I… I ended up in the hospital for a little bit. I just… I told her I would stop. But I’m nowhere near as bad as I used to be.” 

Luke tried to swallow around the lump in his throat. “I never knew.” 

“I didn’t want you to. Michael and Calum don’t know either. I guess… I guess all my old friends know me as fucked up and… I just wanted a fresh start with you guys.” 

“I won’t tell them,” Luke said earnestly. “Unless you’re in danger, I won’t.” 

“Thanks,” Ashton said, his shoulders slumping. 

Luke curled his knees up to his chest, resting his chin on folded arms. “You know they wouldn’t judge you, though. They wouldn’t think you’re crazy. They’d just… want you to be happy. Like I do.” 

Ashton picked at the lint on his bed covers. He just looked tired now. Luke wondered how much he really slept. 

“I still don’t want them to know,” he said. “I don’t want to be that person. The one people have to take care of. I don’t want to bring anyone down. I just want to play music and hang out with my friends and have it not be complicated. But I always manage to fuck it up at some point.” 

Luke didn’t know what to say to that. Because he thought maybe he understood, but it made him sad. When he felt really bad, he always told someone— his mum, or Jack, or Calum, or even Michael— anyone he trusted, really. He always talked about it and that was what made him feel better. And Ashton didn’t have that; didn’t have anyone he felt he could talk to because someone at some point had made him feel like a burden. 

“I don’t think you’re bringing anyone down,” Luke said, softly. “I know you can’t see it, but… Ash, all you do is make people feel good. You make my life so much brighter. Even if you’re sad, I still… I still like being around you. And I want you to be happy the way you make me happy.” 

Ashton didn’t say anything for a long time, just sat there with his face turned away, and Luke worried maybe he had said something dumb or too cheesy because right, he and Ashton weren’t that kind of friends. Their friendship was casual and fun and shallow, or at least that’s how it probably was on Ashton’s side. But Ashton was really, really important to Luke—in a way Luke didn’t really understand— and now it was in the open and Ashton still wasn’t saying anything and it made him nervous so he opened his mouth and started “Sorry, that was—” 

He was cut off by Ashton hugging him. 

Strong arms, much stronger than his own, wrapped around Luke’s shoulders and pulled him close. Ashton buried his face in Luke’s neck where his t-shirt ended and Luke could feel him breathing and— he thought maybe Ashton was crying. He didn’t know what to do except hug back, his gangly arms finding their way around Ashton’s waist and squeezing. It was kind of an awkward position because they were both sitting on the bed and their legs were in the way and the first aid kit was still lying open on the blanket next to them but it was a really good hug anyway and Ashton just felt so solid, so  _ alive,  _ his heartbeat fast but steady and his breath on Luke’s skin. 

Ashton mumbled something into his shoulder that might have been “You make me happy too,” but Luke didn’t ask him, because he thought he might cry too. 

* * *

Michael and Calum showed up five minutes later. 

“You’re late,” Ashton said. His eyes and cheeks were still pink but his voice was steady. 

“Didn’t know you were my Maths teacher,” Michael retorted and began strumming his guitar. 

Luke watched his bandmates bicker and set up, sitting on Ashton’s bed with his legs crossed. Ashton seemed kind of okay again, and Luke felt like he could breathe. Ash was laughing at something Calum said and that made Luke smile a little too. It was like a switch had flipped, but not in a scary way. Just, some life had returned to him. 

“Luke, stop staring at Ashton and tune your guitar, you fucker,” Michael said. Luke immediately felt his face flush, and Calum snorted. 

But Ashton met his eyes. 

“I can’t help it,” Luke said, only half-joking. “He just looks so perfect.” 

Michael’s loud “LUKE, THAT’S FUCKING GAY” was worth it to see Ashton smile. 


	3. -2017-

Ashton is half-asleep when he hears the door open. He sits up, squinting, to see the tall silhouette hovering uncertain in the doorway. 

“Ashton?” Luke whispers, his voice strangely high and shaky. 

“Luke?” Ashton’s throat is rough with sleep. He whispers too, even though there’s no reason to. They’re both awake. “What’s wrong?” 

Luke’s shadow turns a bit towards the door. “Did I wake you?” 

“Not really,” Ashton says. “It’s fine. Are you okay?” 

“Can… can I sleep in here?” 

Ashton isn’t surprised by the question itself, but for some reason his brain still pauses. 

“I can sleep on the floor if you—” 

“No, it’s okay. The bed is big enough.” Ashton pats the empty side of the bed, does a funny voice. “It’s free real estate.” 

Luke should laugh at that, but he doesn’t. He just shuts the door, cutting off the sliver of light from the outside, and shuffles across the shadowy room to the bed. He crawls up onto it, shifting the balance of the mattress a little. Ashton hasn’t had another person in this bed for a long time; it’s a foreign sensation to him, the weight and warmth of someone else beside him. 

Ashton lies back down as Luke gets settled. Luke is shifting and turning over, and he’s agitated and Ashton knows he is. 

“What’s wrong?” Ashton says. 

Luke stills, his back to Ashton. “Nothing.” 

“Are you okay?” 

Luke breathes out shakily; in the shadows Ashton sees his shoulder blades deflate. “No.” 

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

He is silent for a long time and Ashton thinks,  _ okay, he doesn’t,  _ but then in a sudden movement he rolls over so he’s facing Ashton and his eyes are glassy and frightened in the dark. He seems so small like this, so vulnerable. 

For the smallest of moments Ashton wonders if  _ she  _ ever saw him like this. If he ever could be this unguarded around her. 

“I… I feel like I’m going crazy,” Luke exhales. Like he’s letting out a breath he’s been holding underwater for far too long. 

Ashton wants to say to Luke  _ you’re not crazy  _ or  _ did she tell you that you were  _ or  _ Luke what the fuck broke you this much how can I help you how can I help you  _ but none of those things will help so he settles on: “What do you mean?”

“I can’t trust my brain,” Luke says. He closes his eyes for a long moment; in the moonlight Ashton sees the tear that escapes down his cheek. “I can’t trust anything. I can’t sleep. All I can think about is all the things I did wrong and how badly I want to fix it. But then I think… do I even want to fix it? Because I thought she loved me… I thought we were in love, but—” and he gasps, choking on his own words as a sob rips through his body, and Ashton wants to reach out, to touch him, to help him— “She never loved me, did she? I guess I knew that all along but she never loved me. She never loved me.” 

Before he realizes what he’s doing, Ashton touches Luke’s shaking arm, and Luke melts into the contact immediately. He’s twisted strangely in the sheets, trying to hide his face as though he’s ashamed to be crying, but wanting to be close to someone too. 

Ashton wonders when the last time was that someone held him. 

“I tried so hard. To be what she wanted. But no matter what I did I was never good enough,” Luke says, half to the mattress. “She  _ couldn’t _ love me. I don’t deserve it. N—no one can love me if they know who I am.” 

“Luke,” Ashton says, as softly as he can. “That isn’t true—” 

“All I ever do is fuck things up.” Luke turns his face even more into the mattress. At this point he’s less hysterical. He speaks almost calmly, like these words have run through his head a hundred times before. “You shouldn’t even let me be here. You should have just let me die.” 

Ashton watches, helpless, as tears ooze from Luke’s eyes, running in the shadows, the contour lines of his face. Even in this horrible pain, the moonlight paints him beautiful. 

He wants to scream at Luke. Rage courses through him, because how  _ dare  _ he. How dare Luke say those things, those blatant lies. How dare he think them. 

How dare he  _ believe  _ them. 

But Ashton can’t scream at Luke. Because he knows those thoughts well. He knows how tempting the cliff, the blade, the pill bottle can be. He knows that pain isn’t rational. 

He knows anger will only make it worse. 

“Luke,” Ashton says. “Look at me.” 

Luke’s head stays stubborn, down. 

“Luke,” he says again, and gently presses a hand to Luke’s jaw. He tilts the boy’s face up to look at him. Luke’s eyes are the color of sadness. 

“I need you to listen to me. I would  _ never  _ let you die. Okay? You are too important to me, and to so many other people. You are welcome here for as long as you need.” He swallows, fighting a few tears of his own, because he remembers something Luke said to him a long, long time ago— something that helped him when nothing else could— “You make my life so much brighter. I know you can’t see that right now. But it’s the truth. You deserve all the love in the world.” 

Luke lets out a small, strangled noise. He is still crying, but he’s not arguing. And honestly, that is the best Ashton can ask for. 

“Do you want a cuddle?” Ashton offers, trying his best to smile. It’s a familiar phrase with Luke, though it’s been a while. When they first toured, Luke got homesick a lot; he’d never been away from his family for long and when missing home became too much to bear, he would climb in with Ashton. 

Luke says nothing, just shifts closer, dissolving in Ashton’s arms. 

His hair is kind of long now, freed from the quiff and allowed to fall into soft curls. Ashton runs a hand through it; he knows Luke likes that, when he’s petted. Luke is taller too, and curls into Ashton’s side, his forehead pressed against Ashton’s shoulder and his hand bunching in the cotton of Ashton’s shirt, fingers just brushing his waist. A shuddery breath escapes his lips; the warmth of it ghosts across Ashton’s exposed skin and at once this feels very intimate. 

“I’m scared,” Luke says, his voice fragile. 

And Ashton doesn’t know what to say. Because the words that come into his head are  _ I’m scared too  _ but he can’t say that, can’t make it worse. He doesn’t want to lie to Luke though, because lies are what left Luke so broken in the first place. 

“I’m here,” he murmurs into Luke’s hair. “I’m not leaving.” 

“Promise?” 

“I promise.” 

And Ashton, his heart beating hard in his chest, knows it isn’t a lie. 


	4. -2016-

When he was with her, every breath was taken with caution, every word spoken quieter than usual. He was terrified of saying the wrong thing. Of being someone she didn’t want. 

The funny thing was, no matter what he did, he would still be wrong. 

She said things that hurt him, broke him down. He’d sit on the edge of the bathtub, after, with the door locked, trying to glue the pieces back together before she saw. When he was with her he felt he was suffocating. But that was what love was, right? Someone who would take his breath away. So he came to crave that tight feeling in his chest, the panic-attack nausea that squeezed his insides; it must have meant he was doing something right. And so he couldn’t be angry. 

His wrists and back and cheeks bore the marks of her fingernails. They were reminders of how hard she held on, how much she wanted and needed him. They hurt. He hurt. But he knew she was hurting too, and so he couldn’t be angry. He saw her toxic family, her fake friends, the anxiety that seemed to hang over her like a dark rain cloud, the way she gravitated towards substances she knew would hurt her— all of it pieced together a collage of a girl at war with herself. He wanted to be her ally in that war. He needed to be there, to kiss her tears away; and there was only so much he could do because no one can fix someone else but he needed to be there as much as he possibly could. It was his responsibility. 

He tried to ignore the feeling that the more he tried to push her above the water, the more he sunk. 

He couldn’t leave. He couldn’t let her drown. And by this point, he thought maybe he’d forgotten how to swim on his own. 

When she hurt him, it was his own fault, and so he couldn’t be angry. He wasn’t there enough; he didn’t care enough. Too flighty, too soft, a pushover. He couldn’t say no. He couldn’t say stop. He couldn’t fight back and he didn’t want to fight her at all. She loved him, and he loved her, and he hated fighting; it made him feel awful and sick. 

She broke his skin one night, after they fought with each other and he fought his tears. She didn’t cry, so he was forbidden to, an unspoken rule. He wouldn’t fight back either. He just wanted out; that was usually how it ended. With him running away. But she grabbed his arm and held on, her nails like a cobra’s fangs, and he felt blood spring beneath them. 

He ran, ran, ran with nowhere to go. He wanted to go back to her, and dreaded it. He wanted to go home. 

She wasn’t his home. 

He didn’t know he got out his phone until he was pressing the contact name. 

“What’s up?” Ashton said, from the other side. “Are you okay?” 

“I don’t know,” Luke whispered. “Can you get me?” He didn’t want Ashton to know he was crying; it was obvious anyway. 

“Where are you? Home?” 

He shook his head before realizing Ashton couldn’t see. “No… I don’t know where I am. I’m scared.” 

“Ok, wh…” He could hear Ashton shifting, maybe standing up. “I can probably… ok, baby, I need to hang up for a second to check your location on Find my iPhone, ok? I’ll be there soon.” 

“No!” Luke said, his heart rising in his throat. “I don’t want to be alone anymore.” 

“I’ll be right there. Lukey, listen to me. Stay right where you are. Call Mikey or Cal if you need to. I’ll be there for you as soon as I can. I promise.” 

“Really promise?” 

Luke knew he was being childish. But, god, he couldn’t even care anymore. He was cold and wet and he wanted Ashton there because Ashton made things  _ better.  _ Ashton was safe. 

“I promise. Stay there, okay?” Ashton said softly, and hung up. 

Luke didn’t call anyone. He sat on the street corner, ignoring the few passers-by who looked at him strangely, and watched the raindrops fall, one by one. He felt them hit him, his neck, his nose, and he shivered. 

Some time later, Ashton’s car pulled onto the street. Pulled was the wrong word— more like catapulted. Without even turning off the engine, the figure of Ashton flung himself from the driver’s side, slamming the door behind him.” 

“Luke?” he called, eyes scanning. 

“Ash,” Luke said. He wanted to stand up, go to him, but his legs were numb. 

“Luke!” said Ashton, and he was running, and then he was there kneeling down next to Luke, reaching out and pushing damp curls away from his face and looking into his eyes and saying “You’re okay, you’re okay, it’s okay.” And looking at his wrist, staring at the nail marks and the clotted blood, something hard and angry in his face before he looked back up into Luke’s eyes and said it again: “You’re okay.” 

And somehow Ashton got Luke to stand up and get to the car and Luke said something about getting the seats wet and Ashton said it was fine, it was just water and he didn’t care anyway and then Luke was sitting in the passenger seat and Ashton turned the heat up and Luke realized he was frozen, he was frozen and he was thawing and that’s why tears were leaking from his eyes and not stopping and he was shivering with such force it wracked his body with sobs. Ashton was talking to him in a quiet, low voice, and his words blurred together into a soothing hum and then they were at Ashton’s house and Luke was out of the car and then he was on the couch and then Ashton was making him change into dry clothes that were too short but too big on him and they smelled nice, like Ash and like home. And Luke’s breathing didn’t slow until he was in Ashton’s bed and suddenly he was the tiredest he’d ever been and he fell asleep to what might have been Ash singing to him. 


	5. -2017-

It takes Ashton weeks to realize how much damage  _ she _ really made on Luke’s brain. 

He talks about her, a lot. One moment he’ll be fine, laughing even, and the next he goes into shutdown because something’s reminded him. A memory will stir up in Luke’s mind and all Ashton can do is watch, helpless, as he crumbles, reliving another thing he shoved away in order to cope. 

Michael makes a rule that Luke isn’t allowed to say her name anymore; he’s the most “tough love” towards Luke, always has been. Calum can’t stand to see Luke cry, and Ashton is pretty much a sucker for anything he does, so it’s Michael who sits him down and tells him, surprisingly gently, that he needs to stop talking about her because it will only reopen the wounds. 

He doesn’t stop talking about her, but not saying her name anymore helps a bit. Ashton thinks it probably helps separate it, helps Luke feel farther away. 

He isn’t nearly far enough. 

There are the little things, phrases she used, habits. She used to call Luke a tryhard; it was a joke, because of their song, but it always had a tone of cruelty to it, a curl of her lip. Luke can’t hear that song anymore. There’s a place they used to go for breakfast together and he pales whenever they’re in the car and drive past it. 

And there are the bigger things. The way he flinches and flattens himself, apologizes for every little thing and doesn’t seem to understand that he is a human being who takes up space, who makes mistakes, who is alive. 

* * *

“Luke!” Ashton yells. 

He’s just slipped again in the bathroom because of Luke’s fucking showers; apparently after all these years he still doesn’t know how to clean up after himself. 

He hears no reply, but knows Luke is here in the house, on the same floor as him. “Luke!” he says again loudly. 

The door opens. Luke stands there, a strange, strained expression. 

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” he says, with a white-knuckled grip on the doorframe. 

“No, I could’ve slipped and cracked my head open. Seriously, Luke, I’ve been telling you to dry the floor after your showers for fucking years,” Ashton scolds. 

Old Luke would’ve laughed, flipped him off. “Maybe you should just be more careful,” Old Luke might say with a smirk, or if he felt sweet, he’d apologize and help mop it up. 

This Luke doesn’t laugh. His face crumples— that’s really the only word for it. He curls in on himself like a soda can being smashed down and his eyes find the floor and stick there; his arms cross protectively over his chest. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I wasn’t thinking.” 

“Whoa, Luke, wait, it’s fine,” Ashton backpedals, freaked out by how…  _ afraid  _ Luke looks. “I’m not mad.” 

“... You’re not?” Luke says, his eyes flickering. 

“No, of course not. A little annoyed, but I’m not— I’m never mad at you.” 

“Sure? I really am sorry, I can clean it up—” 

“I’m sure, Lukey.” 

Luke lets out a shuddery breath. “Okay. I’m sorry.” 

He walks away before Ashton can question him any further. 

* * *

That’s another big thing: he doesn’t raise his voice at Luke. He doesn’t want to see that crumpled face ever again. 

* * *

“Luke,” Ashton says into the dark room. “Get up.” 

The dark lump on the bed shifts. “...’m tired.” 

“You napped this afternoon.” 

“Still tired.” 

“Are you sick?” 

“I dunno,” Luke says, and they both know he isn’t. 

“I need your help with something.” 

There’s no answer. 

“Luke, I’m serious. You can’t just lay here in bed with the lights off and expect to feel better. You know that will only make you feel worse.” 

Again, no answer. 

“I need your help with something. So please get up. If you’re not out in five minutes I’m going to come bother you again,” Ashton says, cheerily.

Sure enough, within five minutes Luke shuffles into the living space, dressed in sweatpants that hang loose around his waist and only fall about mid-calf, and a sweater, and socks. His hair is messy to the point of comedy, and Ashton can’t hold back the urge to smile at him, because this isn’t happy Luke but it is upright Luke and he has funny hair and Ashton is proud of him. 

“Welcome back to the world of the living.” 

“What do you want?” Luke says, padding to the island and slumping over it, forehead resting down against the marble. 

Ashton lifts the box of pasta next to him and shakes it. “We’re making dinner.”

Luke stares at him for a long second. There are deep, deep bags under his eyes, more like shadow than skin. He needs to shave. His cheeks have hollowed out but not because of puberty— he’s just lost weight. He glares at Ashton. 

“Why’d you want me up, then?” Luke says. “I make eggs in the microwave. There is no way you need my help” 

“I know,” Ashton says. “But I’d like it. So what kind of pasta sauce would you like?” 

* * *

They end up making pesto, because basil is in season, and because there are only about four ingredients. Ashton doesn’t trust Luke with the food processor, though, so his job is rinsing the basil leaves in the sink and ripping off the stems. 

“This takes so long,” Luke mutters, after he’s gotten through about a quarter of the basil leaves. 

“It’s calming.” 

“Not for me. Can’t we just put the leaves in?” 

“If you want plant stems in your dinner, Luke.” 

Luke sighs, and goes back to his task. 

At some point Ashton realizes this would be a lot better with music, so he puts on a playlist. At first Luke sighs again, puffing air from his nose in what Ashton recognizes as annoyance, but after a few songs his head has started to bob. From Ashton’s place stirring the pasta, he smiles as Luke’s hips unconsciously sway to the rhythm. 

“ _ I’ll tell you what I want, what I really, really want _ -” Ashton chants along under his breath, when he hears Luke is doing the same. By the chorus, they’re both singing, loudly too. “ _ IF YOU WANNA BE MY LOVER, YOU GOTTA GET WITH MY FRIENDS, _ ” they yell, and Ashton is giggling and Luke is smiling a little too and suddenly Ashton’s grabbing his wrist and pulling him away from the sink and they’re dancing wildly in the middle of the kitchen. It’s pretty much the least punk rock thing they’ve ever done, but god, is it fun, Luke’s face lit up in a way Ashton hasn’t seen for months. It’s the same glow he gets when performing, and it’s gorgeous, and Ashton wonders why they’ve never covered the Spice Girls before if this is the energy it produces. 

But the song is only three minutes long and it’s not long before three minutes have passed and something else is playing and  _ oh  _ it’s  _ their song.  _ They  _ wrote this song.  _

They’ve stopped dancing, stopped doing anything but standing, breathing heavily. Ashton’s hand is still around Luke’s wrist and he feels the pulse hammering there. A moment of strange tension arises. 

“What band is this?” Luke says, a smile tugging at his lips. “I don’t know them.” 

“Some pricks from Australia,” Ashton replies, and he’s looking at Luke’s mouth. Luke’s mouth that might be smiling. 

“They suck,” Luke says, and yeah, that’s definitely a smile. 

“I don’t know,” Ashton says. “I like the singer. The blonde one.” 

Luke chews on his lip, and Ashton feels something in him somersault. Luke is a mess— his hair, his dark circles, his sad eyes, his clothes, and he is beautiful, and Ashton wants to touch his face, to feel the smile on his lips, to taste it—

It’s just then that the oven timer goes off, indicating that the pasta is done cooking. 

“Fuck,” Ashton says, letting go of Luke’s wrist. “The pasta will be cold by the time we’re done with the sauce.” 

Luke blinks a few times, his pupils un-dilating. “Back to my menial labor, I guess,” he says, disgruntled. 

Their shoulders brush as Ashton drains the water from the pasta, and it feels strange. 

He keeps thinking about it as they finish the sauce, as they serve dinner and sit down to eat. Keeps glancing furtively at Luke’s mouth, and feeling hot pangs of something he’s repressed for a long time. 


	6. -2014-

They were touring with One Direction the second time. It was exciting and fun and exhausting, but when all of those feelings had been felt continuously for weeks, it sometimes became boring. It was one of those days, where they were stuck on the bus rumbling through somewhere in the middle of America, that Calum had announced, “I’m bored,” and Michael, always a genius, had proposed something that no matter what, would always end badly. 

“Never have I ever… played the drums,” Michael drawled, stretching out like a cat across Calum’s lap. 

“Fuck you,” said Ashton, and took a sip of cheap champagne. They didn’t want to get completely hammered, so they weren’t doing shots, but champagne was notorious for its quick effects, and Ashton felt it, everything around him a little warmer and softer. Luke drank too. 

“Since when did you play the drums?” Calum said. 

“Ashton let me try a few times,” Luke said. “I sucked.” 

“Sucked my dick,” Michael said absentmindedly. 

“You weren’t that bad.” Ashton giggled. 

“Yeah he was,” Michael said. 

“I didn’t suck your dick.” Luke pouted, and Michael threw a sock at him. 

“It’s your turn, loser.” 

“Ew, why does your sock smell so bad?” 

“It’s Calum’s.” 

“No it isn’t—” Calum started, then looked at the sock. “Why do you have my sock?” 

Luke threw it back at them. “I didn’t suck your dick. Never have I ever even kissed a boy,” he said, a slight pink tint appearing on his cheeks. Ashton smiled fondly at that. Luke being the youngest wasn’t always apparent, but his shyness around sex was a reminder. It was kind of cute, how Luke’s face and ears flushed. 

Michael groaned. “Does Calum count as a boy?” 

Calum, in the middle of drinking already, smacked his shoulder. 

“Dude, how many times have you seen my dick?”

“Not everyone with a dick is a boy, Calum, Jesus Christ,” Michael said, but took a hearty glug anyway. 

“Why are we talking about dicks so much anyway?” 

“Because you are one, next question.” 

In that commotion, Ashton almost drank unnoticed. Key word: almost. He heard what he could classify as a squeak from his left and turned his head to see Luke staring at him. 

“I didn’t know you— uh, when did you…?” 

Why was Luke so surprised? It wasn’t like Ashton was Aggressively Heterosexual the way some people seemed to be. Sure, he didn’t make out with his friends on a day to day basis the way Michael and Calum did, but Michael and Calum weren’t normal. 

He half-smiled and shrugged at Luke, trying to diffuse the awkward  _ something  _ that had appeared in the air between them. 

“Drunk Ashton likes adventures.” 

“... Who?” Luke said, and it was still weird. “Who was it?” 

Ashton’s mind processed that question for a moment. “No one special,” he said, and it felt weird, though he wasn’t lying. He’d been 18 and at a party and drunk. Not blackout drunk, but drunk enough that his common sense had dissipated and so when he saw this guy his first thought had been  _ wait fuck he’s hot.  _ And he  _ was.  _ Tall and blond and a little lanky, but it worked for him and for some reason Ashton hadn’t been able to stop staring at him. A brief exchange of words and a few dances later and they were making out in a hallway. Maybe they would have gone farther, if Calum hadn’t found him and told him it was time to go home. They never talked about it again; Calum had that sense that told him when Ashton really Didn’t Want To Discuss something. 

But apparently not when he was tipsy. “I remember that—” Calum said, tangling his fingers in Michael’s hair. “Yeah, cause he looked kind of like you, L—” 

“I didn’t even get his name!” Ashton said loudly. “Isn’t that funny? The weird shit we do when we’re drunk, right? Anyway it’s my turn. Never have I ever kissed  _ Michael.”  _

“That’s not faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiir,” said Calum, and slumped over his torso so his forehead rested on Michael’s tummy. Michael seemed to think that was the funniest thing ever, and started laughing, and then Luke laughed too, and Luke’s laugh was infectious and that sent Ashton giggling, and then Michael realized that Calum fell asleep and that just made them laugh harder. 

Ashton thought he was probably safe now. They were all a little drunk, and it was late, and when they all woke up the next morning, Ashton’s admission of sexual experimentation would be long forgotten. He stowed himself in his bunk, staring at the low ceiling above him, and pushed away any thoughts that tried to enter his brain. 

He heard rustling of his curtains and it was never anyone but Luke. 

“Hey, Lukey. Can’t sleep?” Ashton murmured, reaching out until his palm touched a soft blond head. 

“Yeah,” Luke said. “Did I wake you?” 

“No, it’s fine. You want a cuddle?” 

“Yeah.” 

Ashton scooted over and Luke climbed in next to him. It was tight, always was, because bus bunks were barely made for one six-foot Australian, let alone two. But it was nice. Ashton liked having Luke curled up in his bunk. He felt this protectiveness over Luke, and the part of him that worried was satiated when he had the boy by his side; that way, he knew there was no way Luke could get hurt. 

He knew that was stupid, because Luke was seventeen and tall and literally the lead singer of a rock band but still. There was a softness to him that the world hadn’t taken, yet, and Ashton was terrified of what would. 

A teenage boy who still slept with a stuffed penguin was vulnerable to be hurt. 

“Ashton?” Luke whispered, like he didn’t know if Ashton was even there. But Ashton was there, and felt the little vibration of Luke’s throat against his arm. 

Luke’s voice was a little squeaky when he whispered; it was something that had endeared Ashton since he’d started noticing it. Luke had many little things: quirks, traits, habits, that Ashton noticed. And he knew Michael or Cal would tease Luke about that stuff if they noticed, like how when he really focused on listening to someone, his mouth would open a little, and his eyes would go wide, like he was giving them every ounce of his attention. Or how he turned in his feet when he sang and held on to the microphone for dear life because he didn’t know what to do with his hands when he wasn’t playing guitar. Ashton would tease him about it too, but not readily; he liked how if he didn’t mention those things out loud, they felt like a secret. Something only he got to know about Luke. 

“Yeah?” Ashton said. 

“What was it like?” There was a silence; Luke’s sentence was unfinished, but maybe he wasn’t ready for the ending yet. 

Ashton waited. 

“Was it… different… from kissing a girl?” Luke said finally. 

Ashton laughed a little. “You’re still thinking about that?” 

“I don’t know…”

“You are thinking about it, or else you wouldn’t have asked,” Ashton said. 

“I’m just curious…” Luke mumbled, and even though it was too dark to see, Ashton felt him turn his head away like he did sometimes when he blushed. Suddenly Ashton felt bad for laughing at him. It was natural that Luke would be curious. Ashton had been too. 

His brain supplied that maybe a part of him still was. 

“It wasn’t very different,” Ashton said. “He was taller than me, though, which was weird. Besides that, it was like kissing a girl, only it was a boy.” 

“Did you like it?” 

Something inside of Ashton froze. 

He didn’t want to think about the answer to that question. He didn’t want to think about this at all, because it brought a lot of weird feelings into his body that he didn’t know how to deal with and those feelings seemed to be even stronger and more confusing with Luke curled against his side, sleepy and tipsy with his squeaky voice and un-gelled hair. 

But he didn’t want to lie to Luke. 

“Yeah,” he said softly, like if he said that word quiet enough then he wouldn’t have to think about what it meant. 

“Oh,” Luke said. 

There was a long silence and Ashton thought maybe Luke had fallen asleep. His own mind was racing too much to even consider being tired. 

Luke’s voice startled him. 

“Will you… will you, uhm. Could you... show... me?” 

“What do you mean?” Ashton said, even though he knew exactly what Luke meant. 

“I mean, can you… uh. Like, can I try it? To— to see if I like it too?” 

Ashton laughed a little bit but he didn’t find this funny. “You want me to kiss you?” 

Luke swallowed, his adam’s apple bobbing in silhouette. 

“Yeah,” he said, his voice cracking. 

“How drunk are you?” Ashton said. 

“Not… not too much. I didn’t want to be hungover.” Luke’s eyes flickered to him. His words weren’t slurring, but he was pliant the way he only can be with a few drinks in his system. 

“I don’t want you to do something you’ll regret in the morning.” 

“You’d do it?” Luke said.

“Why not?” Ashton said. “We’re best friends. Michael and Calum kiss all the time.” 

“Yeah, but they’re different.” 

They were different. But Ashton’s brain couldn’t figure why at this moment. 

“How drunk are you?” Luke said. 

“I’m fine,” Ashton laughed. 

“You said drunk Ashton likes adventures. Sober Ashton might… regret them.” 

“Luke, I’m fine. Do you actually want me to kiss you?” 

“Yes.” 

“Sure?” 

“Yes, Ash. I’m sure,” Luke said, exasperated. “Just do it already.” 

“Someone’s eager,” Ashton teased, but he didn’t catch it if Luke said anything back because he was suddenly hit with the reality of what he was about to do. He was going to kiss Luke. 

It was completely platonic. It wouldn’t change anything. Right?

“I’m waiting,” Luke said, but his tone betrayed he was anxious too. 

Ashton had kissed plenty of people in his life, but somehow he had forgotten how to start. 

He propped himself up on his elbows, above Luke, who gazed up at him from the pillow. Tentatively, he cupped Luke’s cheek in his palm. Luke breathed out, shaky. 

“Your face is soft,” Ashton said, and immediately realized that was a stupid thing to say. 

“Thanks,” Luke said. “I moisturize.” 

“Please never say the word moisturize again,” Ashton said, and kissed him. 

It was almost easy, the way his mouth fell on Luke’s. Not how he had expected (which was awkward and bumpy, like they were 13 year olds playing Spin the Bottle). No, this kiss was chaste, but firm, and strangely nice. Luke’s lips were soft, a bit chapped, and Ashton wanted to part them, but he thought that would overstep something. 

He pulled away. 

Luke stared up at him for a second, blue eyes wide, mouth opening a bit so Ashton saw his pearly top teeth. A dark flush painted his cheeks. 

Ashton realized his own heartbeat was racing. The bunk felt very warm. 

“That wasn’t a kiss,” Luke said. 

“You do know the definition of a kiss, right?” Ashton said, a laugh catching in his throat. 

“Yeah,” Luke said, and pulled him down by the front of his shirt. 

He held onto Ashton for dear life as their mouths met again, like he was afraid. One hand still was still bunched in the shirt, the other finding its way into Ashton’s hair, where his scalp met his neck, where he was sensitive. That made something in Ashton click, because Luke had the upper hand here, and Luke was  _ younger than him  _ and no way was he going to kiss Ashton better than Ashton had kissed him. 

So Ashton kissed back, hard, nipping at Luke’s bottom lip, and Luke’s mouth opened to his immediately. He tasted like toothpaste, minty, just a little sweet. Maybe Ashton was more drunk than he thought, because it felt like the world was spinning, his body unbearably hot, his heart pounding a drumbeat onto his ribs. He wanted this. And maybe he had been wanting it for a long time, because it felt like he’d been walking for days in the outback and Luke was fresh water and Ashton  _ wanted this.  _ More than water, he needed to be closer to Luke, Luke,  _ Luke _ . He kissed him, and kissed him, until he felt he might faint, and then he pulled away for air and was struck with the realization that there were more places on Luke he could kiss. So his lips found Luke’s jaw, his long neck; his mouth trailed over warm, smooth skin, and Luke was making  _ noises,  _ breathy little sounds, and when Ashton reached the joint where neck met shoulder he said, “ _ Ash _ —” 

Ashton snapped back into reality. 

This was Luke. This was his friend. This was a seventeen-year-old kid who still traveled with a stuffed penguin, who sometimes asked Ashton to sing him to sleep. Luke, who blushed when the other boys made sex jokes, and called his mum every day. 

He gazed up at Ashton, the glassy blue of his eyes almost swallowed by his pupils, his eyelashes flickering, his cheeks and lips red even in the darkness. Ashton wanted to  _ do things  _ to him, hear those noises again and again. It burned through his veins,  _ hurt _ , his head confused and his body undeniably turned on. 

“Why’d you stop?” Luke said, and Ashton tried so hard not to look at his swollen mouth. 

“I—” Ashton said, and then realized he had no fucking idea what came next. 

“Did I do something wrong?” 

“No! No, no, you didn’t… you didn’t do anything wrong, Lukey, I just—” He realized with a start that he was still on top of Luke and he definitely shouldn’t be and he rolled off. “I just think I am drunk. Or drunk _ er  _ than I thought I was.” 

“But you’re not mad at me?” 

“Why would I be mad?” 

“Because I— because… I got too into it.” 

“ _ You _ got too—” Ashton wheezed a breathy laugh; he felt as though he’d just run a mile. “I promise, you’re fine.” 

Luke smiled too, hesitantly, and a small snicker escaped him, and that made Ashton laugh too, and for a while they both quietly giggled (so not to wake Calum or Michael). At some point Luke snuggled into Ashton’s side. His hair was curly when it wasn’t styled, and it tickled Ashton’s arm. He smelled like shampoo and like Luke. 

“Hey Ash?” he said, still giggly. 

“Yeah?” 

“You’re a good kisser.” 

Ashton might have wanted to kiss him again. 

“Thanks,” he said instead. “You’re not too bad yourself.” 

“Why don’t we make out more often?” Luke sighed. 

But he was probably really tired, and still kind of drunk, so he didn’t know what he was saying. 

“Cause we’re best friends,” Ashton reminded him. “And usually best friends don’t make out.” 

“I like making out.” 

“You can do that with girls.” 

Luke let out a huff of air. His voice was getting smaller, a sign he was drifting off. “I like it with you more. You’re nice, Ash. And you kiss good. Love you, goodnight,” he mumbled drowsily into Ashton’s shoulder, and fell asleep. 

* * *

Ashton thought about that for a long, long time. 


	7. -2017-

Ashton doesn’t know the exact moment when things start to change. But they do. Like a summer rain blowing in from the sea, something new, something  _ different  _ is coming over the horizon. 

Maybe it’s the day Luke starts to sing again. 

It’s mid-morning. A lazy Sunday. Ashton takes a long, warm shower, standing under the spray for far too long just soaking up the serenity. He’s drying his hair when he hears it- a familiar voice, though one he isn’t expecting. 

Luke is never awake by 10 AM nowadays, especially on a weekend. He sleeps like the dead until Petunia climbs on top of him, grunting and demanding cuddles. Ashton takes her on her morning walk, but there’s only so much he can do- he can’t replace her Human. 

But when Ashton hangs the towel up, the voice is still there, floating sweetly through the house. He dons a t-shirt and sweatpants and makes his way into the living room to investigate. 

Luke sits in the middle of the room, legs folded, hunched over a guitar. The curtains are open, the ripening sun casting a golden glow over the scene. His hair is curly and free, halo-like, his eyes closed and face smooth and young. And he’s making music, fingers deftly moving over the steel strings of Ashton’s old acoustic guitar. His clear voice spins the melody of _Blackbird._

Ashton can’t move himself from the doorway, can’t get his body to do anything but watch. There isn’t a word he can find to describe the feeling that courses through him, almost violently. He holds his breath in because he doesn’t dare make a sound, doesn’t dare interrupt this moment. 

“ _ Blackbird, fly… blackbird, fly… into the light of the dark black night…”  _

The song finishes. 

There is silence. 

“Ash,” Luke says, with a still sleepy voice. “Did I wake you?” 

Ashton wipes at his face. Luke’s head has risen, his sapphire eyes shining- he doesn’t seem startled by Ashton’s appearance, just surprised. 

“No, no, I was awake,” he says. 

“Are you okay?” Luke asks, concern twisting his face. 

“I’m fine. I’m good! I’m…” Ashton grasps for something. “I’m happy. Because you were singing.” 

“Oh,” Luke says. 

“It was beautiful,” Ashton says, because that’s the truth. 

Luke blushes and looks down. 

“It was rough.” 

“It was beautiful,” Ashton says again, insisting. “You made it beautiful.” 

There’s a hint of a smile in Luke’s eyes, tugging at the corner of his mouth. For the first time in months, he doesn’t look tired. He doesn’t look sad. 

“I’ve been writing a song,” he says, his mouth clumsy around the words, as if he’s forgotten how to say that. “I can play it for you, if you want.” 

Ashton sinks down in front of him with a smile mirroring Luke’s. “Of course I want,” he says, quietly, into the morning light. “Yes.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, that's the end of this story. I'm sorry it never "resolved", really, but I think that's the nature of mental health. It's an ongoing burden. You have better days and worse ones. All your loved ones can really do is be there for you and keep loving you no matter what.


End file.
